


Rollercoaster

by bimadabomi



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode: s07e16 Election Day Part I, Episode: s07e17 Election Day Part II, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:02:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26906323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bimadabomi/pseuds/bimadabomi
Summary: This was the least them, and the most them, they'd ever been. Josh and Donna's thought throughout Election Day parts 1 and 2.
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss
Comments: 9
Kudos: 57





	Rollercoaster

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into The West Wing and Josh/Donna. I'm about. 20 years behind the times (just finished my first watch of the series) but no worries, I am here now.

It’s 11pm the night before Election Day. She thinks. They’ve been in and out of so many states and so many time zones, but so far they’ve learned from their mistakes during Bartlet’s reelection and haven’t crossed any date lines without realizing it. She’s tried hard to make sure she knows what time zone they’re in, at all times. Lesson learned.

That seems like a thousand years ago. They’d thought that election campaign was intense.

Lou pours the scotch and tells Josh to go pay for it which slightly amuses her. Then Lou asks, “So, who’s planned out the future for the rest of their lives?”

It’s a joke, because no one has a clue. Most everyone has just been living for Election Day and not a sense past that. Everyone’s joking about diets and sleep, some have their eye on the White House if Santos wins but aren’t supposed to say it outloud, but the question is one she’s wondered about recently – where does she go from here? 

She’d left her job, and Josh, once (okay – twice) already and somehow here they are, still working side by side. When she’d hired herself as Josh’s assistant on the first Bartlet campaign all those years ago, she hadn’t imagined she’d grow into this in the way she had. Now, she has no idea what her next move is.

Josh comes back and asks who’s going to stay sober long enough to get the LA numbers from Bram and everyone stays silent, avoiding his gaze. She smirks to herself, because she plays along with them but she knows he will _never_ choose her.

He’d kissed her nearly three weeks ago, and then he’d said it was inappropriate. _Inappropriate_. The word that they both knew well, had been in the back of their minds every day for nine years, the word that had kept them doing this little dance for just as long. He was her boss, it would look bad on the administration, it would look bad on both of them. It probably would have prevented her career from going anywhere – she could imagine the thoughts in people’s heads if she tried to move her way up: _that’s the senior assistant from the White House that sleeps her way to the top!_

And then he’d kissed her, _finally_ , albeit unexpectedly. She hadn’t hesitated in responding, but then he still apologized in a surprisingly sincere way. She was sure he was truly worried he’d crossed that line he was never supposed to cross and offended her somehow. However, she caught him staring at her several times the rest of that day which had to mean something. Since she’d quit she hadn’t seen him stare after her or smile at her in the way he had that day in a long time. 

They weren’t the same Josh and Donna anymore. He wasn’t Deputy Chief of Staff and she wasn’t his assistant. Technically, he was still her supervisor and so in some ways she had trouble wondering if it was still _inappropriate_ now. She had played the scenario in her head placing Will in Josh’s position and somehow that didn’t seem as if it would come off as inappropriate. She’d asked Will about her hypothetical scenario in a way that now Will was absolutely sure he knew something was going on with her and Josh – and she was kind of glad, because the alternative was him thinking she was hitting on him. Will said it wasn’t inappropriate. Then CJ grilled her on what was going on with Josh without so much of a hint of disapproval that she might have had if it was inappropriate.

So she got brave and slipped him her room key. A few drinks could do that to you. But then Edie rushed after her telling her she’d left her key behind and Josh just stared at her regretfully. She went on to her room and wondered if she’d gone too far. Though the key had been returned to her she was sure he’d gotten her message, and he knew where her room was. Nothing happened, so they both did what they do best: ignored it and continued working side by side.

Now they sit here, the night before Election Day, drinking scotch. Everyone’s turning in early (11pm is early for them, now) one by one (or two by two) sneaking away for their last campaign fling.

Josh looks truly surprised to see each couple sneak way, and she laughs while she sips her drink – of course he’s been too wrapped up in everything to notice anything. When Ronna slips away with Cindy, she finds that it’s the two of them left there. Fate, or cruel irony?

“Did you know that?” he asks her. She feels a little relief in the fact he seems to be completely content to be left alone with her, and not pulling away from her as he may have a few months ago. It feels like the old them.

“About Ronna and Cindy?”

“Any of ‘em?”

“Yes,” she grins.

“Which one?”

“All of them.”

“Wow.”

She keeps on smiling, and she’s not sure why. She brushes off her skirt nervously (why is she nervous?!) and they stare at each other briefly as she gives him a smile. 

“Did you ever… come on board?” he asks.

This is it. 

Her insides twist at the way his voice changes, the way he looks at her. It’s flirtatious and suggestive and he’s never spoken to her like this. Suddenly she understands how yes, it would’ve been inappropriate to hear this from her boss, from the Deputy Chief of Staff to the President of the United States, but no, it doesn’t feel inappropriate now. Besides, after tomorrow this is all over and who knows where they go next. She wants to flirt back more than anything she’s ever done. “No,” she says teasing him with a smile.

They stare at each other momentarily.

“Never had a campaign fling?” he keeps going.

She gets nervous for a moment, realizing the reality of it all, but she wants to stay the course and see where it goes. After all, this could be their last chance. He’s clearly in it this time, maybe regretting he didn’t follow her last time. “No.” 

Maybe it’s a little bit of liquid courage. She can’t believe she’s going to try this again after the botched last attempt. Who was she, anyway? All those years of pretending she felt nothing for Josh, keeping any feelings at bay – he kissed her one time and all the barriers to her feelings seemed to have vanished. The first hint of suggestion that he felt the same about her, wanted her just as she wanted him, and she was ready to act.

This is not them. They’ve bantered and subtly flirted before, they’ve shown each other just how much they _care_ for each other, but they’ve never been so suggestive.

She gets up, her nerves raging but the thrill of it all pushing them away. She crosses to the couch and sits down next to him, crossing her legs intentionally. She sees the slight smirk on his face. He knows where this is going, and he seems frozen in place; maybe in disbelief, maybe afraid if he moves he’s going to blow it somehow. He hasn’t moved his hand from the side of his head and she can’t stand how much that makes her want him more, how intent it makes his focus on her.

“Do you want another drink?”

The tone kills her. _Kills_ her, and her nerves fly high as does the desire and anticipation. She’s going to do this. They’re really doing this. “No.”

She wants to make it clear, but she doesn’t know what more to do, so she denies the drink and gets up and walks to the elevator. She doesn’t allow herself to look back, but prays he got the message. She hopes he follows her this time. This is new and different and a line they have never crossed, even with the kiss – the kiss had been so unexpected, unintentional.

This is deliberate on both their parts. This is brand new territory for them and she doesn’t even know where she’s taking them. 

He wakes up at 3:03am and looks over his shoulder.

Donna.

He’s known Donna for nine years. They’ve argued, they’ve fought, he’s flown to another country to be by her side, she took care of him after he was shot. But this is new, and he doesn’t know what to do now. He’d unexpectedly kissed her a few weeks ago, and then he apologized. He’d feared he’d finally crossed that line he wasn’t supposed to cross. He’d just grabbed her and kissed her without any indication from her that that was what she wanted. She’d kissed him back– but he still apologized for being inappropriate and then she spouted back with, “It was bound to happen sometime.” 

At first, he thought she was trying to brush it off, put it behind them, say it was nothing. Then he wondered if she’d been expecting them to kiss for years and this was her way of saying she didn’t think it was so inappropriate, actually. When she tried to slip him the key to her room, he’d started to think she’d meant the latter. Then Ronna grabbed the key, and his opportunity right along with it. Donna looked back at him disappointedly as she went off to her room. Part of him knew he could still follow her. Another part of him wasn’t sure if he was still crossing a line he wasn’t supposed to cross, and the moment was gone. He and Donna had been on thin ice the past year, and suddenly they were skidding into some unknown territory that seemed perilous. 

So instead he played it safe, like he always did. 

He’d turned her down for a job in the campaign in the beginning and he’d been so mad when Lou hired her, but here they were again. He found himself leaning on her, found her to always be nearby, found himself listening to her ideas, and she was doing way more work on this campaign than just being the spokesperson. He found it ironic he’d pushed her away, but here they were again anyway. And he didn’t hate it.

He’d been hurt when she quit – he knew he wasn’t being entirely fair to hold such a grudge just because she wanted to grow in her career, especially now that he saw she was good at it. He’d understood that she wanted more. He’d tried to give her more. He sent her to goddamn _Gaza_ for crying out loud, where she almost died. He hadn’t really understood what she’d meant by _more_ back then, hadn’t realized she wanted to do something like _this_. He was mad at himself for ignoring her request to meet with him before she quit, he was mad at her for joining the competitor, he was hurt that she’d left like it had only been a job and their relationship meant nothing.

Along the way their paths crossed on the campaign trail and he’d told her, “You should be with me.” He’d meant it in a good way– he wishes he hadn’t let her go, he saw she was good, and he wished she was on his team. They should’ve been doing this together. Maybe his words hadn’t conveyed that, exactly.

He supposes now he should be thankful she was bold enough – for both their sakes – to leave, because they’ve both had new opportunities since then. Although at the moment he’s not sure if he’s glad he ran this campaign or he regrets it entirely, but he knows if she hadn’t quit he might not have left, either.

He rolls over and reaches out for her – then retracts his arm just before he makes contact with her shoulder. He doesn’t know what this is. He knows how he feels about her, has always felt about her – but what was she thinking, last night? What is this to her? What is this to _him_? What are they doing, and is this something he could even fit into his life?

When he hears her sneak into the bathroom, he’s on alert suddenly. He knows one thing, this can’t be _awkward_. He can’t let them make this awkward or else they’re going to go ten steps back again. It’s Election Day, if they make this awkward and she this is it, they end up going their separate ways after this, for good?

He grabs his clothes and follows her to the bathroom. He tries to rest casually on the door jam before pushing open the door. He tells her she doesn’t have to leave, or sneak out. She says she wasn’t but she’s also getting dressed, including putting on her sweater, so he’s not sure he buys it – and meanwhile he made it all awkward. Maybe she just wanted a campaign fling? Maybe she thinks that’s what he signed up for last night and she has to sneak out now? 

He swallows a gob of toothpaste, because morning breath will make everything more awkward (and yet, he realizes the first time he kissed her he reeked of morning breath). He tries to approach her, tries to ask how she’s feeling, and she diverts to the election and darts away from him saying she’s going to get them coffee.

This is most definitely _not_ them. She doesn’t get him coffee, he’s reminded her of as much. He agrees to the coffee and she remembers how he takes it even though she’s never made it a habit of bringing him coffee. Of course she does, which makes him feel like they are actually still a little bit _them_ after all.

She doesn’t know what this is.

She wakes up and everything feels awkward. It’s not entirely unexpected – the first morning after is always awkward, let alone with someone you’ve known for years. Last night she felt bold, but now she doesn’t feel bold at all. She doesn’t know if he expected this to be a fling or something more. They’d thrown that word around last night and now everything was ambiguous. She gets dressed so things aren’t more awkward. He calls her on it (“the sweater?” he quips) but it’s not like she has anything more casual to throw on here in his hotel room. Then he approaches her in a way that feels like he might just wrap his arms around her and she thinks she might like that a little too much, so she slips away to get them coffee.

She goes to get their coffee, and the space does her some good. She has a second to process and she realizes what happened last night, how _good_ it had been and realizes she has the idea that maybe she wants to do it again. She walks down the hallway back to his room with a smile on her face as she juggles the coffees and chats with Otto, feeling content. 

When she gets back to his room, she finds half the campaign staff has joined them for their early morning coffee and she’s a little annoyed, but also relieved that they’ve spared her round two of being awkward. Ronna answers the door and then Josh greets her with “No one can sleep.” He seems happy. He seems like Josh. 

She walks up to him with his coffee and whispers, “Tell me you found my pantyhose.” He stops chewing and stares straight ahead for a moment.

This feels like them. This feels like how they used to whisper about things in the bullpen, only this time it’s in a hotel room and it’s about her pantyhose from the night before.

This is the strangest day of his life. He woke up with Donna, and not to mention oh yeah, it’s also Election Day and quite possibly the most important day in his career thus far. He’d quit his job at the White House for this day. He’d been working tirelessly for this day nonstop for a year. Take Donna into account and might just be the most overwhelmingly intense day of his life so far.

He’s trying to give Donna some space. He doesn’t know what she feels, and she went to get them coffee before everyone invaded his hotel room and they had a chance to discuss anything. Of course he bumbled his words again talking about the walk of shame. The more awkward he keeps being the more he’s probably going to push her away. Everyone keeps telling him that they’ve got everything under control and he has nothing to do, proud of themselves for taking on his burdens on Election Day. What the hell? How else can he keep his mind off of Donna and the election? He corners some kid named Drew, tries to ignore how Drew jumps in fear when he asks him his name, and then he follows him to the ballroom to keep himself busy.

Later, they look over the exit polls and he honestly feels like his head is going to explode. This is too much. This day is too much. This is the most stressful day of his life. And he’s had some days. He’d been in a fire and lost his sister. He’d been shot. He’d almost been fired several times. His father had passed away in the middle of the Illinois primary. But this day, the anxiety of the election paired with the elation and uncertainty of whatever the hell is going on with him and Donna, is like riding a rollercoaster on a continual loop.

“Your face is frozen in an odd way,” she says.

He feels like he knows this Donna. He knows how to do this banter. “Unattractively?” he tries.

“Not entirely,” she bounces back.

He’s so absorbed in the exit polls, he nearly misses the change in her tone and intention with what comes next, from the _other_ Donna, the one he doesn’t really know (yet?).

“Maybe we should take a walk or something. Try to de-stress a little before the next numbers come out. You wanna take a walk?” she moves behind him and reiterates softly, “Or something?”

He glances up from the exit polls. The rollercoaster is making another climb.

She’s become extremely confident since she quit her job as his assistant and joined not one, but two campaigns. She’s got good ideas, she speaks her mind, and she knows what she’s doing and she does it confidently. He realizes she was probably right to leave her job. It’s sexy as hell to watch her become this confident woman working in politics beside him and he’s honestly proud of her.

Now that same confidence seems to be directed at seducing him. She has no qualms, he kissed her the other morning and now she’s got no hesitation in propositioning him. Repeatedly. Whatever had been holding her back all these years was gone.

This morning he’d seen every warning sign that she was trying to walk her way back from whatever it was they’d started. Now, he was baffled and suddenly it’s 1:00pm on Election Day, and he’s in bed with Donna, again. He debates for a split second if he should ask her about turning on the TV to check the news, but he does it since he decides it might give them something to distract themselves from the awkward conversation that’s bound to happen otherwise – he can’t trust himself, he’s already started babbling about tap water. She agrees immediately, and he lets her know that he is aware this might not be the most romantic thing possible by reminding her at least he didn’t bring his Blackberry to bed.

The first thing they see is President Bartlet casting his ballot and he’s suddenly overcome with a little nostalgia-where it all started, that first campaign he’d worked on, where he met Donna.

She shares with him a worry about the Minnesota polls and this feels like them. They’re discussing politics and as usual she’s got a good point. Except before she used to ask questions, not understanding so many things, and then she’d make her good point. Now she has her own ideas and opinions to share. Now they’re on an equal playing field. And now, they do it naked. He calls to ask for the Minnesota numbers and there’s a knock on the door a split second later.

“Speedy,” Donna quips. Suddenly he realizes it’s 1pm on Election Day and someone is knocking on his door, expecting to find the fully dressed and stressed out campaign manager and instead he’s in bed with Donna, neither of them clothed. He looks at her with a smile and tries not to laugh as he yells out for Ronna to hang on.

“Do you have Donna?” she asks, unaware of how ironic her innocent comment really is.

“Uh… what?” he stalls, unsure of his way out of this one. To his surprise, Donna flings his dress shirt at him with her damn foot, her bare leg sneaking out from under the comforter and holy hell that is not the awkward post-coital Donna from this morning. 

“Have her?” he repeats, almost laughing and his voice cracking.

“Do you know where she is?” Ronna repeats, somewhat amused.

He gives up the charade. What the hell. “Uhh… yeah,” he says with a laugh and Donna grins at him in a way that indicates that she thinks this is hilarious and this is the least them and the most them they’ve ever been at the same time. 

Donna can’t believe she’s on TV within minutes of being in Josh’s bed, after sneaking away with him for some stress relief in the middle of Election Day. She’s surprised at herself for being so bold as to pull him away for a walk “or something,” in the middle of the day and she’s almost more surprised that he stepped away from the campaign and exit polls to go with her. 

Back in the war room later that evening, the rollercoaster makes another sharp drop and Josh’s head nearly does finally explode. He’s screaming at the electoral board and everyone’s staring at him, no one entirely surprised. They all know Josh by now, and no one was expecting him to be calm and collected in the height of Election Day. She watches him explode and he storms out after Lou screams his name to get him to shut up, because some people know how to put him in his place. 

She follows him outside to the roof, where he asks her what she’s doing out here, as if it’s not clear. It’s almost as if he’s surprised that they’re back in this place where she could even possibly care to come after him, as if they hadn’t just slept together (twice) that day. She tells him she’s been appointed to check on him which was mostly just Ronna and Edie, who now seem to understand something is going on between them, glancing in her direction repeatedly after he left the room. No one else would dare go after him, of course. No one really had to appoint her anyway.

She searches him out again later in the war room with a soft “Hey,” carefully trying to check how he’s holding up, because she knows Josh and she knows how he deals with anxiety like this. He opens up and vents to her easily. He likes that they can talk like this again, despite everything that happened the last year, despite everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours. He likes that she’s checking up on him like she used to do. He even likes when she tells him that he looks terrible and he can banter back that “the makeup’s really working.” It feels familiar and right.

So that’s why later he asks her to pull him away from the transition team in two minutes, even if she has to make something up. This is an old routine of theirs, she knows it well. They’re starting to fall back into their old habits, so much tension from the past year dissipated. That’s why he’s surprised when she doesn’t show up two minutes later, Donna the ever meticulous time keeper.

He asks her what happened and why she hadn’t pulled him away and suddenly she feels like she’s back at the night of the Illinois primary so many years ago.

That night, she had to tell him about his dad dying. Now, she has to deliver the news that Leo has collapsed, as if Josh wasn’t already stressed enough today. She’d once told Amy how Josh worries every day that someone he cares for is going to die and it’s going to be his fault. Somewhere in the back of her mind it dawns on her how he must have felt having sent her to Gaza. 

She just stares at him, pained that she has to be the one to deliver this kind of news to him, again, as he babbles out scenarios of states they may have won or lost because her face is obviously confusing him. They rush to the hospital, together, Donna trailing at his heels as they run through halls lined with secret service agents. She’s thankful they’re back in this place where they can be around each other again without hesitation, when something like this happens to them.

Without a doubt, this is now the single most monumental day in Josh Lyman’s life.

Less than 24 hours ago, he and Donna were flirting and teasing, seducing each other. Now she’s comforting him as he stares blankly out into the hospital, gently guiding him back to the hotel (and the election) by telling him that she’ll drive, a comforting hand on his back. He’s still trying to process the news about Leo, and when was the last time he’d seen Leo, anyway? He was here in Houston with them and he didn’t even know when the last time he saw him was.

Through his tears he’s still worried about the campaign, about the undecided voters, about the statement the congressman needs to make, about the president. She assures him Lou is on it, that everyone knows what needs to happen, that she’s already called CJ, and she tells him where Mallory is when he asks. She’s so calm and he knows she’s processing the loss, too – but she’s somehow holding him together, being the bridge between the tragedy of Leo’s death and the chaos of Election night.

He’s in some kind of daze but he’s thankful she’s here. She understands him when he’s tearful because Leo just died but he’s still wondering about Texas. She knows how much Leo meant to him – but still she doesn’t wonder why he’d be asking about Texas, of all things, at this moment. She isn’t horrified that his mind is still thinking politics when his mentor just died. Was it only this afternoon that they had been laughing in bed about him having her? They’d been flirtatious and seductive then, later she tried her best to talk him down off the ledge after his head finally exploded, and now she was here comforting him after a tragedy. 

The rollercoaster had suddenly flown off the tracks.

He still doesn’t know what this is, but he knows that she gets him. They’re awkward and stumbling through the newfound part of their relationship, but the foundation of their relationship is still alive and well despite the fact it had been at bay for a good portion of the last year. 

She keeps her eyes on him the rest of the night. He’s not there when everyone is celebrating Texas and she finds him in Leo’s room, staring at Leo’s belongings. He’s glad that she’s found him because she’s probably the only one here that really understands what Leo meant to him, that knew Leo beyond the campaign. He cries as he explains he doesn’t want Mallory to find the paramedic stuff (the way he’d found her room in Germany when she’d been rushed into surgery, but he doesn’t tell her _that_ ). She tells him they won Texas - gives him a bit of brighter news, and tries to let him know what a remarkable thing he’s done, because it really is. She hates that he’s done something so amazing, he’s so close to victory, and now this day is tainted with sadness and he can’t relish what he’s accomplished. He confides to her that he feels like this is his fault, that he asked Leo to do this, but she already knows he blames himself. He blames himself every time he loses someone he loves. 

He sniffles and rests his head against her in despair in a moment of vulnerability that he would not have had with anyone else.

This is them. This, they know how to do.

When they finally have a winner, he’s not surprised that she’s right there behind him. He forgets about Leo for a brief second to celebrate in absolute disbelief that he’s done it. They’ve somehow _pulled it off._ He puts his hands up in the air, still unsure this is really happening. The rollercoaster is back on its tracks after the surprise hidden plunge and is creeping back up towards the peak. This whole day feels a little like a dream (and a nightmare). He feels hands on his shoulders and he knows it’s her – of course it’s her. He turns and throws himself into her immediately, wrapping his arms around her neck and holding her tight. It’s a hug unlike any hug they’ve shared before. It lasts longer, he holds her closer, she falls into him more, he inhales the scent of her hair, it’s so much more intimate, there’s no pressure that they have to pull away before it stops looking friendly. The now president-elect catches his eye from across the room and mouths “thank you” to him and he’s hugging his wife in much the same way. Josh feels like all this is right, like Donna’s supposed to be to him what Helen is to Matthew Santos. She’s been everything to him in the last 24 hours alone. She’s been his lover, she’s attempted to quell his anxiety, guided him through his grief and now she’s here celebrating this joyful moment with him. He holds her tight, not just in celebration of the moment, but in gratitude, all the emotion of the entire day flooding through him, thankful she’s been there with him through it all.

It’s been the biggest whirlwind of 24 hours of his entire _life_ \- he and Donna, Leo, winning the election.

It was just a few hours ago that he was crying to her in despair and now here he was hugging her in joy.

They were the least them, and the most them, they had ever been all at once.


End file.
